


only fools rush in

by Fiver



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 16:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiver/pseuds/Fiver
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire decide they should take their fledgling relationship slowly. And then immediately fail to do so.





	only fools rush in

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just an excuse for me to practice writing sex scenes, there is no plot but about as many emotions as you'd expect from something I wrote, I hope you enjoy (thumbs up)

Grantaire actually pulls a chair out for Enjolras when they enter the restaurant. It seems a slightly ridiculous gesture, especially in this definitely-not-fancy pizza place they've chosen, and it's performed with none of his usual over-dramatic, joking bravado. Enjolras doesn't comment, just sits down with a small smile, which Grantaire returns with a bright and relieved grin.

Grantaire takes the seat opposite him, and though he's still smiling, he immediately starts fidgeting. He's so _nervous, _and that's ridiculous too but it's also incredibly cute and it makes Enjolras almost ache with affection. When Grantaire picks up a menu and stares at it clearly without even noticing that he's holding it upside down, Enjolras's urge to lean over and kiss him – which has been simmering on a steady low heat for probably a few months now – jumps up a notch.

Given how flustered Grantaire already looks, Enjolras thinks that might be a bit much. Instead, he reaches over and takes his hand. Grantaire looks startled, then delighted, then embarrassed about looking so obviously delighted.

“So,” Enjolras says. “First date.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees with a slightly terrified smile.

“Well. First _official _date,” Enjolras muses, examining Grantaire's hand and tracing all the little scars he has from boxing and irresponsible use of an x-acto knife in his art. They've been spending a lot of time alone together over the past few weeks: getting coffee, getting drinks, movie nights at Grantaire's cramped but cosy apartment. It was just that neither of them had had the spine to call any of those occasions a date. Enjolras is frankly relieved their friends had finally helped them get their shit together, even if it had been slightly mortifying.

“I don't want to get all serious before we even order, but I think it's important that I say this now,” Enjolras says. “I really like you, but I don't have a lot of experience when it comes to, y'know, relationships. So I think it would be for the best if we took this slow.”

“Oh God, yeah, absolutely,” Grantaire says, nodding furiously. “No, that's...yeah. Yeah. I'm not in any rush, Enjolras.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says. Grantaire nods.

“Yup,” he says, picking up his menu again, the right way up this time. “Slow is good.”

~

“Oh my _God_,” Enjolras says, approximately four hours later. “You need to hurry up and open this door.”

“I can't find my fucking keys!” Grantaire says, laughing at Enjolras's impatience as he continues to root through his seemingly endless number of pockets.

“And you're not helping,” he adds when Enjolras's only response is to whine irritably and wrap himself even more firmly around him from behind. “Aha!”

He pulls out the keys triumphantly, gets the door to his apartment open, shuts it behind them, and Enjolras is on him immediately. He crowds Grantaire back against the door and finds himself having to make a split-second decision as to where to kiss him first. He decides on his mouth, which has really been asking to be kissed the entire night. Grantaire seems happy with his choice; a soft groan escapes him as their lips come together and his hands go to Enjolras's waist and hold on tight, like he's afraid this is a dream that will slip away from him if he doesn't keep it firmly anchored.

Enjolras hasn't kissed many people before but he resolves not to let his inexperience get in the way of his enthusiasm, and he kisses Grantaire like it would kill him to stop. He expects that his technique is sorely lacking, but Grantaire responds with matched exuberance, and then Grantaire's hands on his waist pull him in close and fit their hips flush together and Enjolras makes a sound that he really hadn't known he was capable of making.

“R,” he mumbles against Grantaire's mouth, unwilling to move away. “R, help me, I don't know what I'm doing.”

Grantaire obliges, because Grantaire is just _wonderful, _and he brings one hand up to Enjolras's jaw, manoeuvring him gently to tilt his head just so and it brings them closer together, makes every hungry kiss hotter and wetter, and Enjolras fists his hands helplessly in the fabric of Grantaire's jacket. Then the next kiss is open-mouthed and Enjolras feels Grantaire's tongue slide hotly along his own, and it's good, it's all so _good._

There's a shift, a pull and push, and suddenly Enjolras is the one being pressed into the door, and that's good too, and he makes a small noise of protest when Grantaire's lips leave his but his displeasure is swiftly quashed when Grantaire starts mouthing urgently at his neck instead.

“Oh,” Enjolras says softly, staring at the ceiling, cupping the back of Grantaire's head with one hand while he explores this new territory. Grantaire's tongue laps over his pulse point and Enjolras's hips give a little jerk entirely of their own volition. Grantaire chuckles, and they're so close together that Enjolras feels every vibration of it.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire tuts into the curve of his neck. A few drinks and an evening of their usual easy talk have rid him of his nerves. “Whatever happened to taking things slow?”

“Ugh, slow.” Enjolras wrinkles his nose before his face goes slack when Grantaire resumes his ministrations. “I. I changed my mind. God. That was the stupidest thing I've ever said. Slow. What was I thinking?”

“It sounded like a good idea at the time,” Grantaire says. He comes back up and brings their mouths together again, just briefly, then pulls back just far enough to rest their foreheads together. Enjolras notices for the first time how hard they're both breathing, how loud it sounds in the otherwise silent apartment. He wonders if maybe they forgot to breathe for a while there. He wouldn't be surprised. Breathing really does feel like a secondary concern right now.

It's dark in the apartment – in their haste, they hadn't even bothered to turn a light on – but Enjolras can make out Grantaire's face in the light from a streetlamp coming in through a window. His hair is slightly mussed, and his eyes are very dark.

“What do you want, Enjolras?” Grantaire asks. “Tell me.”

Enjolras ponders for only a moment.

“I want us to go to your bedroom,” he says. He hears Grantaire suck in a breath.

“Are you sure?” Grantaire asks.

“Of course I'm sure,” Enjolras says. “If we're going to have sex on the first date, I'd at least like it to be on a bed.”

Grantaire blinks, then laughs.

“Only _technically _the first date, remember,” he says.

Enjolras knows fine well where Grantaire's bedroom is, since this apartment is a shoe-box and it is also the living room, but Grantaire leads him there by the hand anyway, and once they're inside they find the presence of mind to turn on a lamp. Enjolras looks Grantaire over with great interest; his lips are redder than usual, his face slightly flushed, and there's a bulge in his jeans that Enjolras finds quite gratifying considering they'd only been kissing. Grantaire seems to misinterpret his gaze.

“Still sure?” he asks.

Enjolras answers by pushing Grantaire's jacket off his shoulders and pulling him towards the bed.

“You need to take charge,” Enjolras informs him. “Like I said, I don't know what I'm doing.”

“Have you not done this before...ever?” Grantaire asks.

“Nope.”

“Oh, God.”

“Virginity is a social construct, don't make a fuss.”

“I _know, _it's just. I don't know. A lot of pressure?”

“Would you prefer I go away, fuck someone else and come back later?” Enjolras asks dryly.

“Noooooooo.” Grantaire sits on the bed and tugs Enjolras along with him, pulling him closer until Enjolras has to climb onto the bed too, his knees on either side of Grantaire's hips. “Just. Tell me if anything doesn't feel good? Or if you want to stop?”

“You know I'll tell you. And probably in quite strongly worded terms,” Enjolras says. He's very aware that he's now in Grantaire's lap, and even more aware of the burgeoning realisation that he quite likes being there. He cautiously settles more of his weight on Grantaire's thighs, watching Grantaire's face for discomfort but finding only warm approval. His own face feels hot. He wishes Grantaire would kiss him again.

“Alright.” Grantaire nods. His hands go to the lapels of Enjolras's jacket. “Can I...?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says, shrugging out of it and letting it drop to the floor.

“And this?” Grantaire asks, gripping the hem of Enjolras's t-shirt. Enjolras nods, and the shirt is pulled over his head, and it immediately feels much more intimate than he'd expected. Grantaire has probably seen him shirtless before – there have been group trips to the beach, and one memorable outing to a water park – but here, in Grantaire's room, in Grantaire's lap, with Grantaire's hands resting warmly on his bare waist, Enjolras doesn't think he's ever felt more exposed. It's a strange, prickling feeling; nerves and anticipation, self-consciousness and relief, all in one.

Grantaire is gazing at him up and down, looking a little dazed. His thumbs are absently tracing light circles on Enjolras's skin.

“You're really beautiful, you know that?” he says. “I don't think I've ever told you, but I've always known. You're so beautiful.”

“Shut up and do something,” Enjolras says, face burning. He doesn't know what to do with Grantaire when he's being so horribly _earnest._

“You shut up,” Grantaire replies, which is much closer to the level of maturity Enjolras is used to from him, and he takes Enjolras's face gently in his hands to pull him down for a kiss. It's not long before his hands start to wander and his mouth follows suit; he trails kisses down Enjolras's throat and the dip between his collarbones, and Enjolras gasps when he laves his tongue over one peaked, sensitive nipple. He gasps again, louder, when Grantaire's hands slide down his back and grab his backside firmly, using their grip to pull him impossibly closer, rocking their hips together. Enjolras lets out a soft whine quite without meaning to. He can't help it; his body feels like it's on fire, and his jeans are starting to feel torturously tight. Grantaire lets out a breathy laugh.

“God, what to do first?” he says. “Just having the choice is like a fever dream. Really never thought I'd get this far.”

Enjolras groans with impatience and squirms in his lap.

“Do you want to toss a coin? Roll some dice?” he asks. “I really don't care so long as step one involves me getting out of these jeans.”

“So forward,” Grantaire tuts. His hand and gaze trail their way down to Enjolras's waistband. He pops the button and undoes the zip and Enjolras makes a relieved sound. He stands up to remove his jeans completely and then moves to resume his spot in Grantaire's lap, but Grantaire stops him.

“Lie down?” he asks almost shyly. Enjolras is happy to comply; he slides onto the bed and flops back onto the pillows, which smell faintly of detergent and Grantaire. He takes a deep breath and wriggles happily. Grantaire laughs softly and leans over him, but before he can get too comfortable Enjolras plucks at his shirt.

“Off, please,” he says, all too aware that he is currently three quarters nude and Grantaire is decidedly not.

Grantaire only hesitates for the briefest of moments before nodding and peeling off his t-shirt. It leaves his hair even more mussed and his face slightly red; he looks down at Enjolras with a nervous, apologetic smile, as if begging him not to be too disappointed with what he sees. Enjolras trails a hand slowly down Grantaire's bared chest, probably with a stupid, dumbstruck look on his face but he doesn't particularly care. He can't imagine what Grantaire thinks might displease him about his body. Grantaire has a stockier frame than Enjolras, and is far more athletic besides, and his broad shoulders and solid muscles make Enjolras feel dwarfed but in a good way; a safe way. There's a layer of softness around Grantaire's middle that speaks of his sweet tooth and propensity for too much wine, and his skin has a generous dusting of dark hair that tapers into a narrow trail that disappears under his jeans. Enjolras wants to kiss him from his mouth to the planes of his chest and down to his navel and beyond.

“Come here,” Enjolras says, putting phase one of that plan into motion by sliding one hand to the back of Grantaire's head and pulling him into a kiss. He gets a little muddled after that, though, especially when Grantaire leans over him and tentatively lowers his weight a little – he finds himself delighting in the new sensation of bared skin-on-skin; he arches into it and wonders how it would feel if they were both stripped completely bare and pressed together like this, and he hypothesises that it would probably feel _pretty good. _He slips both his arms around Grantaire, pulling him closer and running his hands greedily over his back, determined to map every inch of him. Grantaire's tongue is in his mouth again, and his stubble is a slight prickling burn against Enjolras's skin, and he likes it far more than he would have expected. God, this feels right. All of it just feels right. Enjolras can't believe they waited so long to get here.

It seems like they pass a sweet eternity like that, pressed together, hands roaming, Grantaire steadily taking Enjolras apart with his clever, wicked mouth, but finally Grantaire pulls back and Enjolras reluctantly comes partway back to reality. Grantaire's lips are red and shiny-wet, and Enjolras just has to steal one more kiss from them before letting him speak.

“Can I touch you?” Grantaire asks. His hand trails down Enjolras's body to his tented boxer shorts to make his meaning clear.

“Yes.” Enjolras is shocked by the desperation in his own voice, but he supposes he shouldn't be. He's hard and straining in his underwear, his whole body feels hot and hyper-sensitive, and he thinks he wants Grantaire to touch him more than he's ever wanted anything else in his life. He pushes his hips up against Grantaire's hand, encouraging, pleading. “Yes, please.”

Grantaire shuffles down the bed and it feels like the most natural thing in the world for Enjolras to open his legs to accommodate him between them. Grantaire's fingers slip under the waistband of his boxers, but then, infuriatingly, he pauses.

“What is it?” Enjolras asks, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I feel like I've had dreams like this,” Grantaire says. He shoots Enjolras a grin, which is enough to set Enjolras's heart aflutter at any time, but a mischievously smiling Grantaire _between his thighs _is almost too much for him to take. “You're not a dream, are you?”

“I don't think so,” Enjolras assures him. “But I hope I can live up to these dreams you've flatteringly had about me. I'll be very put-out if your dream version of me is better-endowed.”

“Hmm, I wouldn't know. Never got any further than this,” Grantaire says, still smiling up at him. “Even my subconscious wouldn't dare.”

“Now's your chance,” Enjolras says.

“You're sure?”

“Please, Grantaire.”

“Oh my God,” Grantaire mumbles as he finally, _finally _helps Enjolras shed his underwear. “Stop asking so nicely or I'm going to blow my load before we can even have any fun.”

“Do you like it when I say 'please'?” Enjolras asks, delighted by the idea.

“It's just nice to hear you be polite,” Grantaire says. “You're normally so rude.”

Enjolras snorts, and he's really glad Grantaire is being his usual teasing self, because this is the first time in his adult life that he's been naked in front of another person and he thinks it would feel a lot more awkward if they weren't laughing about it.

“I need you to know,” Grantaire says, sliding one warm hand along Enjolras's calf, “that you look amazing. I mean, you always do, but this...” He pauses to wet his lips with his tongue, eyes looking slightly glazed. “Yeah, you look so good right now.”

Enjolras can feel himself blushing to the roots of his hair, and he turns his face into the pillow to try and hide it. He hears Grantaire chuckle quietly before leaning up to kiss him and coax him out of hiding.

“Don't be embarrassed,” Grantaire says in his ear. “I'm only saying what's true.”

“You- you look really good, too,” Enjolras says while Grantaire's lips brush delicately over the soft skin beneath his ear. “I didn't say it yet but you do.”

Grantaire snorts derisively, and Enjolras is fully prepared to halt the proceedings and argue until he accepts the compliment, but that's when Grantaire's hand wraps around his cock and he, regrettably, temporarily loses the ability to form coherent thoughts. He hears himself gasp, feels his spine arch into the sensation, and is vaguely aware of Grantaire murmuring soft words to him that he isn't quite capable of processing at the moment.

“You okay?” Grantaire is asking, Enjolras eventually realises.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I'm good. It's good.”

He hears Grantaire laugh softly again as he pulls away to kneel up between Enjolras's spread legs. When he gives his cock a few more light strokes, Enjolras finds himself spreading them further, and he sees the way it makes Grantaire's breath catch. He makes an unhappy noise when Grantaire's hand releases him, but then just stares, wide-eyed, as Grantaire wets his palm with a few broad swipes of his tongue before taking him in hand again. And oh, now it's smoother and wetter and _better _and a quivering moan escapes Enjolras's lips before he can do much about it.

“Tell me how you like it,” Grantaire says as he jerks him firmly but slowly, and the impatient, wound-up part of Enjolras wants to beg _tighter, faster, more, more, please _but there's something so delicious and decadent about this, about Grantaire's slow, unhurried strokes and his attentive gaze weighing heavy on Enjolras's every response.

“Like this, just like this,” Enjolras says between heaving breaths. He's _so_ hard, and he realises only belatedly that his hips have started moving in languorous circles, matching Grantaire's rhythm. “Grantaire...”

“Can't believe I get to have you like this,” Grantaire says. “I want to make you feel so good.”

“Yes, please, I...I want...” Enjolras's hands scrabble blindly because he wants to touch Grantaire too, but his fingers meet denim instead of the bare skin he's seeking and he lets out a frustrated whine.

“You _need _to get your _pants off_,” he groans.

“Really? Why's that?” Grantaire says teasingly. His hand doesn't stop moving, and it's making it very difficult for Enjolras to keep his thoughts in any kind of order.

“Want to see you,” Enjolras manages. He has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to keep his focus as the pleasure builds. “Want to touch you.”

“You first,” Grantaire says, and his hand on Enjolras's cock starts stroking him a little faster, as if to distract him, and it feels so good that it very nearly works but Enjolras is nothing if not resolute in his desires, and he pushes himself up on his arms into a sitting position, very nearly but not quite causing the two of them to crack skulls. He puts his hand over Grantaire's.

“Stop,” he says, and of course Grantaire obeys immediately.

“Sorry,” he says. He sat back just in time to prevent their heads colliding, and now has Enjolras kneeling over his lap again. He curls his hand tentatively around Enjolras's waist instead. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine. I'm good,” Enjolras assures him with a smile. He leans their foreheads together lightly. “Like I said, I want to see you. All of you.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes and scoffs, even as he lets Enjolras start unfastening his belt.

“There's really not much of me that's worth seeing, you know,” he mutters, and Enjolras's hands go still. He peers at Grantaire and finds his cheeks red and his eyes averted.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras says. He leans in and brushes a kiss at the corner of Grantaire's mouth. “You know that I'm sort of _into you, _right? Like, physically? You _know _that, don't you?”

“Ugh, I _guess_,” Grantaire grumbles, throwing himself backwards and lying sprawled on his back with one arm thrown across his eyes. “But that's because you're _blinded _by how much you love my winning personality and amazing puns.”

Enjolras laughs softly and crawls his way up Grantaire's prone form to prise his arm away from his face.

“I do love those things,” he says. “But I didn't at first, if you remember.”

Grantaire groans loudly.

“You're going to bring up your terrible first impression of me now? Now of all times?” he complains, looking wounded. “That'll kill every boner in a five mile radius. You couldn't have let me at least get you off first?”

“Remember that time you burst into a meeting late?” Enjolras says. “It was raining and you were soaked, and you were drunk. You were talking so loud and dripping everywhere, and when I snapped at you about being late and disruptive, you gave me this shit-eating grin and did a curtsy and said 'I'm so sorry, your Highness' in this annoying, simpering voice.”

“_Enjolras_,” Grantaire says, sounding strangled and looking mortified. Enjolras chuckles and drapes himself over him like a blanket, their faces a mere whisper apart.

“I was so pissed off,” he says. “But even then, you have no idea how hard it was for me not to jump you right there.”

Grantaire blinks.

“Uh?” he manages after a moment.

“Mmm, you were wearing that stupid leather jacket you look so good in,” Enjolras goes on. He intermittently presses kisses along Grantaire's jaw, and almost subconsciously starts moving his hips slightly against him as he reminisces. “No hood, so your hair was soaking. And you hadn't even thought to zip it up so your t-shirt underneath was drenched and clinging to you and _God, _Grantaire, I wanted you to pin me to the wall and kiss me senseless. I wanted to follow the droplets of water running down your face and neck with my mouth. I wanted to grab you by your hair and kiss the stupid grin right off your face.”

Grantaire gapes up at him, and Enjolras smiles back with affected innocence.

“I thought you were really hot, is what I'm saying,” he says when it becomes clear Grantaire is lost for words. “Even when I thought you were an asshole.”

Grantaire lets out a wheezy laugh.

“Holy shit. God, if I'd only known,” he sputters. “Think of the amazing hate-sex we could've had.”

“Hmm, yeah,” Enjolras says. “But that's okay. I think I like this better.”

“Yeah, me too,” Grantaire says, smiling up at him.

“Good,” Enjolras says. He kneels up and shimmies backwards. “Now, will you get your pants off?”

Grantaire laughs again.

“Of course, your Highness,” he says. With some manoeuvring he gets his jeans and underwear off in one fell swoop; his thighs are thick and muscled and covered in the same dark hair that adorns the rest of him, and he's still hard despite the pause in the proceedings. Enjolras eagerly slides back onto his lap, running his hands up those thighs as he goes.

“Isn't that better?” he says, trying not to sound _too _smug. Feeling bold, he brings his hand up to his mouth and wets his palm as he'd seen Grantaire do earlier, watching Grantaire's face carefully all the while. When Grantaire gives him a slightly dazed-looking nod, he reaches down and grasps Grantaire's cock and gives it a few experimental strokes. It's bigger than his own, and the thought makes something strange and hot curl in his stomach. He wants to make Grantaire feel good, he wants to make him come – but his boldness fades far too quickly; he suddenly feels awkward and constricted by his own inexperience.

“I'm sorry, I've never...” He trails off. He rallies, tries again. “I might not be very good.”

“Don't worry,” Grantaire murmurs to him, pulling him close enough to kiss. “Don't worry, you're fine.”

One of Grantaire's hands slips between their bodies, and Enjolras lets out a small gasp when he wraps it around both of them. The feeling of the two of them pressed together like that makes his eyes want to roll back in his head, and Grantaire is helping him to curl his hand around them too, and then they're moving together, both of them stroking in tandem and kissing messily and it might just be the best thing he's ever felt. He looks down and sees their hands entangled in a hot, perfect vice around their cocks and he moans softly.

Grantaire's free hand smoothes up and down Enjolras's bare back as they continue to move together, and on each downstroke it goes a little further, until his fingers are skimming over Enjolras's tailbone, then lower again. Enjolras's hips jerk away from the new contact in surprise.

“Sorry,” Grantaire says quickly. “Have you ever...?”

“Ah, no. Not really.” Enjolras can feel himself going red. He's experimented a little, but was always worried about doing something wrong and injuring himself and then having to explain that to an emergency room doctor or, worse, Combeferre.

“Okay,” Grantaire says. “Do you want to try?”

“I...yeah. Okay.”

Grantaire grins at him and, as Enjolras watches, pops his pointer finger into his mouth and slides it out again, wet and shiny. Then he pulls Enjolras down into another deep kiss as his deft fingers resume their exploration, dipping low to dance lightly on the delicate skin around his asshole. Enjolras tries not to think too hard about it, tries to ignore the voice in his head insisting it's unsanitary. It feels...nice. He tenses instinctively, though, when Grantaire's pointer finger starts pressing against him with intent.

“Relax,” Grantaire murmurs against his mouth, and Enjolras does. He knows Grantaire wouldn't do anything that would hurt him, and the combined ministrations of Grantaire's lips and two busy hands have him too dizzy and blissed out to be tense for more than a brief moment.

The tip of Grantaire's finger dips just inside his hole and wiggles a little, and Enjolras gasps. He isn't sure how long Grantaire teases him like that, but it's long enough for him to feel his breath becoming ragged, and for him to start wishing that that finger would maybe go just a _little _deeper. He's about to say so, when instead Grantaire pulls away from him completely. His expression must be devastated, because Grantaire looks at him and laughs.

“Sorry, but you'll thank me for this,” he says, and he leans across the bed and starts rifling through the nightstand next to it. Enjolras whines and drapes himself over him, pressing heated, impatient kisses across his bare shoulder. Soon, but not soon enough for Enjolras's liking, Grantaire makes a triumphant sound and reemerges from the drawer he was rooting through; he rolls over and takes Enjolras with him until they're lying side by side facing each other.

“What am I supposed to be thanking you for?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire wordlessly holds up a bottle of lube, and Enjolras feels every inch of his skin grow hot, and not just from embarrassment. “Ah.”

“Keep relaxing for me, okay?” Grantaire says. He takes hold of Enjolras's leg and hooks it over his own hip, then pops the cap on the bottle and liberally coats the fingers of one hand with lube. “Let me take care of you.”

Enjolras buries his face in Grantaire's chest, not knowing where else to look. He jumps at the first cold touch of slick fingers to his hole, then sucks in a deep breath when the same finger that had been teasing him before presses inside carefully. It only goes in to the first knuckle, but it's deeper than before, and he forces himself to breathe steadily and resist the urge of his muscles to clench down tightly around it. After giving him a moment to acclimatise to the new sensation, Grantaire starts to gently thrust his finger in and out, gradually going deeper as Enjolras's body allows it. And, God. Enjolras is quick to realise that he _likes it, _this feeling of something pressing into him and stretching him open. The initial strangeness and slight burn of the intrusion fade and reform as a kind of pleasure he's never known before, and he catches himself moaning into Grantaire's chest and circling his hips in a blind quest for friction. He grabs onto Grantaire's shoulder and feels his muscles shifting and working as he pumps his finger in and out with ease now. He crooks it inside of him and Enjolras's toes curl.

“Do you want more?” Grantaire asks him, sounding a little breathless. “Do you think you can take it?”

“Yes,” Enjolras hears himself groan in reply without even pausing to think about it. “Yes, _please._”

Grantaire swears under his breath, and then Enjolras cries out softly when he feels the tip of a second finger nudging past his rim on the next thrust. The stretch is _more _this time but he welcomes it; he's already greedy for this feeling, already desperate for more. He barely notices when Grantaire manoeuvres him onto his back for a better angle and, as Grantaire confesses, a better view. His legs fall open of their own accord and he obeys mindlessly when Grantaire urges him to pull his knees up towards his chest, leaving him laid out and exposed like never before and it should be mortifying but there's no room in his mind for things like that while Grantaire's two fingers are working deep inside him. On each thrust they rub against a spot inside him that he can only assume is his prostate, and with each pass it sends waves of pleasure of increasing magnitude through his body, and it's almost more than he can take. In a fleeting moment of self-awareness he hears his own panting breaths and short moans – a series of quick and entirely involuntary _oh, oh, oh_'s in time with the pumping of Grantaire's fingers. His hands are clutching at the bedsheets but he brings one up to cover his mouth and muffle himself.

“You don't need to be quiet,” he hears Grantaire say. “I want to hear you. I want to know I'm making you feel good.”

“You are, it's good, it's so- _ah._” Enjolras's train of thought abandons him when Grantaire finds a new angle that is somehow, impossibly, better. Enjolras writhes and pushes back against him, desperate. “_Grantaire.”_

“I've got you,” Grantaire says. He presses kisses to the inside of Enjolras's trembling thigh. “Want to make you come, just like this.”

“Please,” Enjolras begs. His cock is achingly hard and messily leaking pre-come onto his stomach and he's so _close _but not quite _there _and he reaches down on instinct to take himself in hand but is beaten to it by Grantaire, who must have managed to re-open the bottle of lube one-handed because his palm is slick and his grip is tight and sure, and he starts to jerk Enjolras off in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers. Enjolras arches off the bed with a shout that's almost a sob, because it's so _much. _Touching himself has never felt like this.

“R, I can't- I have to-” he babbles, feeling the sensations consuming his body building all too quickly towards an inevitable climax.

“Don't fight it,” Grantaire tells him, rhythm never faltering. “It's okay, I've got you. Come on, baby.”

A few more strokes, a few more twists of those clever fingers and that's _it_; Enjolras throws his head back and moans loud and long as he comes all over himself and wave after wave of fizzing, perfect pleasure rush through him. Grantaire works him through it and stops just short of overstimulating him, releasing his softening cock and gently and carefully removing his fingers.

Enjolras lies there a moment, eyes shut, catching his breath. He hears Grantaire shuffle up the bed and then feels a soft kiss brush his cheek.

“Hey,” Grantaire whispers close to his ear. “You okay?”

Enjolras makes himself open his eyes and look at him. In the aftermath he is once again lucid and he's trying and failing not to feel embarrassed about the wanton performance he just gave. Grantaire's look isn't judging, at least, but after a few seconds Enjolras still drops his gaze.

“Oh, Enjolras,” Grantaire says with warm amusement. “Don't look like that.”

“I'm sorry if I was...” Enjolras starts awkwardly but Grantaire stops him with a kiss.

“You were perfect,” Grantaire says against his lips, and Enjolras feels his face burn and his heart flutter. “Don't be embarrassed for even one second. You looked so _good_.”

“Oh, God,” Enjolras says. Grantaire is being very careful with his hands, mindful of the fact that they are both sticky with half-dried lube, but Enjolras doesn't care and he says as much, and he feels much better once he's wrapped up in Grantaire's arms again.

“Was it okay? Did you like it?” Grantaire asks, a faint note of uncertainty creeping into his voice, which Enjolras thinks is frankly ridiculous considering the state Grantaire had reduced him to only minutes before.

“I think you know I liked it,” he says with a wry smile. He sits up and Grantaire follows suit, and Enjolras takes the opportunity to straddle his lap once again.

“So it's something you might be interested in doing again sometime?” Grantaire asks with a teasing grin but a deeply earnest look in his eyes. Enjolras shivers at the fresh memory of Grantaire's fingers buried inside him, Grantaire's hand on his cock, and he thinks he'd be interested in doing it all again as soon as humanly possible.

“Yes,” he says. “But stop talking about next time when we're not even done here yet.” He casts a meaningful glance downwards to where Grantaire's cock is still standing hard and heavy between his thighs. Grantaire, who hadn't had the slightest qualm about spreading Enjolras out on his bed and taking him apart, actually has the audacity to blush a little.

“You don't have to,” he says, shrugging.

“I want to,” Enjolras says, reaching for the discarded bottle of lube. He makes Grantaire meet his eyes. “Do you want me to?”

Grantaire's throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“Tell me,” Enjolras murmurs, dropping his head to trail a line of kisses down Grantaire's neck, mouthing softly at the place where he can feel his pulse hammering. He hears and feels Grantaire's breath hitch.

“I...yes, I want you. Want your hands on me, you know I do, you must know.” Grantaire's words come out in a rush, like some part of him has been cracked open. “God, Enjolras, I've wanted you for so long, I never thought...”

“Shh.” Enjolras retraces his path back up Grantaire's throat and presses their lips together briefly. “You have me now.”

“_God.” _Grantaire laughs weakly. “It still doesn't feel real.”

Enjolras has to laugh too, looking pointedly at the mess that is slowly drying on his stomach and chest.

“You just finished giving me the best orgasm of my life and this still doesn't feel real to you?” he says.

“The best?” Grantaire repeats with another grin.

“Shut up,” Enjolras says, squeezing some lube into his palm. He rubs his hands together, trying to warm it a little. Without giving himself time to over-think it, he reaches down and smoothes both hands over Grantaire's cock, getting it slick from root to tip. He hears Grantaire's sharp intake of breath and something that sounds almost like a whine. Enjolras dares to look up at him; Grantaire's pupils are blown wide and dark and he stares back at him with a desperate, awed expression.

“Tell me what you like,” Enjolras says, his hushed voice seeming to echo in the quiet room. He settles himself more comfortably in Grantaire's lap and starts pumping his cock, slowly. “Help me make it good for you.”

“It's fine, it'll be good no matter-” Grantaire starts but Enjolras swiftly silences him with a kiss.

“Grantaire,” he says warningly against his lips. Another whine escapes Grantaire's throat; he tips his head back, shuts his eyes.

“A little- a little tighter,” he manages finally. Enjolras obliges him, tightening his grip and continuing to stroke slowly, but with purpose. He can feel tiny shifts in the muscles of Grantaire's thighs, little aborted movements as he instinctively tries to circle his hips in time with Enjolras's rhythm but is largely prevented by Enjolras's weight in his lap. Grantaire still has his eyes closed, as if to see this and to feel it at the same time would be entirely too much. It gives Enjolras the opportunity to really take in his wrecked expression – the slight furrow of his brow, his parted, kiss-reddened lips – and feel, for the first time, the delight of having another's pleasure so entirely in his hands, of being able to give this to someone, and especially to Grantaire. He pauses on his next upstroke to tease under the head of Grantaire's cock with his thumb.

“How about this?” he asks even as he feels Grantaire's hips make an attempt at a jolt. He presses soft kisses down Grantaire's bared throat, feels it work as he tries to answer.

“_Ah,_ yeah, that's...” He runs out of words here but gives a tortured groan, making his opinion on the matter fairly clear. Enjolras hums and laves further attention upon his neck with lips and tongue and the graze of teeth. He takes his time, occasionally favouring Grantaire with a few strokes along his length but mostly focusing his attentions around the tip, learning which spots are the most sensitive, which ones make Grantaire moan, which ones, when teased mercilessly enough, will finally make Grantaire open his eyes to look at him pleadingly, and capture his mouth in a messy kiss.

“Enjolras, please, please,” he says when they break apart, gasping for breath, and all at once Enjolras understands why Grantaire had been so affected by his own use of the word.

“Of course,” Enjolras replies, kissing him again, sweetly, and resuming his long, firm strokes, a little quicker than before. Grantaire's hands go to his waist and grip tightly.

“God,” Grantaire says, voice thick. “I am going to come so fast, so embarrassingly fast.”

“What's embarrassing about that?” Enjolras asks with a laugh. It had been more of a sprint than a marathon for himself too, and he doesn't feel inclined to be apologetic about it. Instead of replying, Grantaire leans into him and makes a long, low, keening sound in the back of his throat. Enjolras slides his free hand around the back of his neck and strokes the curls at his nape, slightly damp with sweat.

“Talk to me,” Enjolras says.

“I- Faster, please,” Grantaire says through quickened breaths. “Please, Enjolras, I _need-_”

Enjolras obediently pumps him faster, ignoring the swiftly mounting protests of the muscles in his arm and instead doing everything he can to help Grantaire along, trying all the little twists and tugs he likes when he is alone in bed and hoping Grantaire will like them too. Something seems to be working, because soon Grantaire is panting against him, his pinned hips stuttering futilely. Enjolras tugs gently on his hair to ease him back a little.

“Look at me,” Enjolras says softly, and Grantaire does, his eyes wild and dark and glossy, his mouth open and gasping, and then he's coming, and Enjolras gets to see and feel the moment unfurl; feels his cock pulse in his hand as it spends, sees his lips form a perfect 'o' as his eyes flutter closed and the already high colour in his cheeks deepens. It's mesmerising; Enjolras stares, drinks in every detail of Grantaire temporarily lost to pleasure, and thinks, _that was me. _It's a heady sort of feeling.

He works Grantaire through it until he lets out a whimper that's more discomfort than enjoyment, and then releases him. Grantaire is still catching his breath, but he reaches up and cups Enjolras's face with one hand, and smiles up at him with hazy eyes.

“So good,” he says, leaning up and pressing a quick peck to Enjolras's lips. “So, so good.”

Enjolras smiles back at him. He's fairly sure Grantaire means it – the orgasm hadn't been _fake, _after all – but he privately hopes that Grantaire, much more experienced than himself, isn't disappointed that he didn't do anything more adventurous than a hand-job. Next time, he tells himself. He's sure there'll be many next times, hopefully starting soon.

He gives a small yelp of surprise when Grantaire suddenly rolls them over, leaving him sprawled on his back on the mattress. Grantaire grins down at him.

“I'm going to grab us a towel,” he says. “Don't go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” Enjolras says with a snort as he reluctantly relinquishes his hold. He watches appreciatively as Grantaire saunters, still bare, towards the bathroom. Enjolras glances around at their discarded clothing, strewn on the floor around the bed. Now that all is said and done, he can feel his self-consciousness creeping back in, no longer tempered by the excitement and urgent desire of before. He sits up and pulls his knees to his chest, as if this is going to somehow disguise the known fact of his nakedness. Grantaire returns momentarily, having evidently already wiped himself down and bearing a damp cloth and towel for Enjolras. Enjolras reaches out to take them, but Grantaire bats his hand away with an amused huff and coaxes him to uncurl his body again, and proceeds to do it for him, running the cloth over his skin with such doting gentleness that Enjolras has to look away.

“So,” Grantaire says casually, “how does it feel to be rid of that pesky social construct?”

Enjolras breathes out a quiet laugh but doesn't answer, not entirely sure how to.

“...It's okay to feel a bit weird about it,” Grantaire says after a short pause. He finishes wiping up the last of the mess they made and pats Enjolras's torso dry with the soft towel. “I know I did, after my first time.”

Enjolras looks at him, curious.

“Yeah?” he asks. Grantaire nods.

“It's something new, right?” he says. “And I remember thinking, like, oh shit, I've really laid myself bare to another person. You can't take that back. Even if you end up wanting to.”

“I don't regret it,” Enjolras says. “I. I liked it. And I'm glad it was you. It's just...”

“New, and weird,” Grantaire finishes for him. He smiles. “I know. It's okay.”

He reaches out almost tentatively, as if unsure if his touch will be welcomed, but Enjolras falls into his arms immediately, burying his face in the crook of his neck and holding on tight.

“Okay, come here,” he hears Grantaire chuckle, and somehow or other Grantaire gets them lying down, still wrapped up in each other, and as a bonus, even manages to pull the duvet over them. It helps Enjolras feel a bit less exposed, and their shared warmth quickly lulls him into a contented half-doze after their exertions.

“Can I kiss you?” Grantaire asks in a whisper, and Enjolras nods, and their lips come together again, slow and soft and sleepy this time. They've kissed a lot this evening, but it still feels so _new, _something to be explored with many avenues to be discovered. Enjolras quickly learns that this kind of lazy, languid kissing, with no purpose other than to be enjoyed for its own sake, is really very lovely.

“I really did like it, Grantaire,” Enjolras says. He can't deny that he does feel a little strange, like he's seen a new side to himself and Grantaire saw it too, and now he's not sure if Grantaire will think of him exactly the same – or if he'll even think of himself exactly the same. But it had been _good. _Good and new and a little scary. He shifts his legs agitatedly beneath the covers, needing some outlet for that strange bubbly mix of feelings.

“That's good. I'd hate to think I put you off sex forever,” Grantaire replies. He tangles their legs together and rests a hand on Enjolras's hip and rubs his thumb soothingly back and forth there. His touch is calming, grounding, but more than anything else it's his usual teasing smile that helps reassure Enjolras that this new facet of their relationship doesn't _change _anything in any way that really matters. He presses one more kiss to Grantaire's mouth, a thank you.

“Will you stay here tonight?” Grantaire asks him quietly.

“Is that okay?” Enjolras asks. He doesn't know the protocol. Grantaire laughs, but not unkindly.

“Yes. I'd love for you to stay,” he says, hiding his smile against Enjolras's neck. “But you don't have to.”

“I'd like to stay with you,” Enjolras says. He snuggles closer. “I'm comfortable here.”

“I'm told I do make an excellent pillow,” Grantaire says.

“I'll be the judge of that,” Enjolras mumbles. Then, a thought occurs to him. “Oh, no.”

“Oh no?”

“I just realised I'll have to message Combeferre to let him know I won't be home tonight,” Enjolras says, wrinkling his nose.

“Is that bad?”

“Yes, because Combeferre tells Courfeyrac everything.”

“And?”

“_And, _they'll- they'll _know. _Why I didn't come home.”

“Oh dear. Are you embarrassed?” Grantaire eyes shine with mirth.

“It's _private_,” Enjolras protests. He groans. “Courfeyrac will be insufferable.”

“Poor Enjolras.” Grantaire bundles him more securely into his arms. “Maybe we should have stuck to the original plan and taken things slow after all.”

Enjolras considers a moment.

“No, I don't think so,” he says. That earns him another kiss. He melts into it, but a moment later he remembers something, and he pulls back with a smile that must look just a tad too mischievous for Grantaire's liking.

“Uh-oh. What's that look for?” Grantaire asks.

“You called me 'baby',” Enjolras says, grin widening. “Earlier.”

He bites his lip to hold back laughter as Grantaire goes wide-eyed and pink-faced.

“Ah. Sorry,” he mutters. “Was that...?”

“No, no,” Enjolras assures him, peppering his blushing face with quick kisses. “It was cute.”

“You hated it, didn't you?” Grantaire groans.

“I definitely didn't hate it,” Enjolras says, and he's not sure who's most surprised, Grantaire or himself. “It was just. Another thing that was new.”

“Uh-huh,” Grantaire says. He pokes Enjolras's side in retribution, and Enjolras's whole body jerks. “Oh, you're ticklish.”

“No, I'm not,” Enjolras retorts far too quickly.

“Aren't you?” Now it's Grantaire's turn to grin.

“_No_, Grantaire, I am _not-” _But it's too late, Grantaire is testing the theory, and Enjolras's protests dissolve into yelling and squirming and shrieks of laughter. When Grantaire finally relents – probably out of concern for his neighbours, since Enjolras proves much louder when tickled than he had been during their earlier activities – they are both breathless and tousled, and he's leaning over Enjolras and looking down at him triumphantly.

“I hate you,” Enjolras wheezes.

“Oh no. Does that mean I don't get a second date?” Grantaire asks, brushing hair out of Enjolras's face and giving an exaggerated pout.

“I don't know. Maybe you should ask me,” Enjolras says. Grantaire blinks, then gives a soft, bashful laugh.

“Hey, Enjolras?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Can I take you on another date sometime?” he asks. The teasing from mere moments ago might never have happened; his look is sweet and earnest and _hopeful, _as if there were actually a chance of Enjolras saying no. Enjolras adores him.

“Yes, that would be nice,” Enjolras says, coaxing Grantaire to lie back down so that he can make himself quite comfortable curled against him once again. “Let's make plans in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment!


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